The survivors of the Titanic were picked up by a steamship called the Carpathia, where they resided for three days before landing in New York.

The night after, Noël ascendsto the deck and sits in a slender-backed chair to cut up a blanket.It’s quiet. The water is tuckedtight around the ship, lappingonly a little, like they’re afloatin a wineglass that someonehas disturbed--

everything fades tothe in-out of a borrowed needleas she sews a shirt for a babywho was also saved. When a manon the crew brings her a chippedcup of coffee she says thank youand lets it sour. Last nightshe scooped an oar

through a fury of cold waterand sang she’d keep ono’er crag and torrent, tillthe night is gone. Even thenshe was unsure. In the endsalvation means she makesa row of stitches and snipswhat hangs loose

then repeat. The shirt comingtogether in the way things do.Meanwhile, the clouds riseand glow. She didn’t thinksurvival would be like this.So bearable. So full of light.

ANNA KELLEY is pursuing an MFA in poetry at Syracuse University. She is a reader for Salt Hill. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Citron Review, Literary Orphans, Up the Staircase Quarterly, CICADA, Split Lip Magazine, and others.